Jinsoul keeps walking. Forward, backward, she doesn’t know. It looks the same in every direction. She tries to fall on her side and still she remains upright, elegantly treading an invisible line. Her body feels weightless. It sounds like she’s underwater. She’s tries to focus on the voices.

“Stop…”

“Hold her down!”

“… lost it…”

“… can’t hear us…”

“… going to break…”

“You’re bleeding…”

“What do we do?”

The words drift in and out. Clear as a bell when spoken, vanishing like smoke once heard. Jinsoul doesn’t have time to make sense of it. A force compels her to walk. But why? Why should she keep walking? What was the point?

Jinsoul stops. Huh.

Though there’s nothing to see, no landmarks to go by, Jinsoul knows. If she doesn’t move, the world around her expands. If she could call it a world. It’s a strange place. Vacant.

Jinsoul grasps at . It’s so dry. By reflex she looks around even if she knows she won’t find an oasis. She doesn’t want water. Something thicker, richer, with more minerals. The more she ponders it, the stronger her craving grows. The intensity adds to her impatience.

Just. One. Drop.

There’s an ear-splitting scream. Jinsoul realizes it’s her own voice.

She stares at a sterile white ceiling. Her teeth are bared, her muscles throb, her bones might as well be splintered. She’s blinded. Everything burns. She wants to cry. For some reason she can’t. It makes her want to cry more, being denied the emotional release.

She screams again unwillingly.

“Shh, shh. It’s alright. You’re safe here. Follow my voice.”

Jinsoul staggers, now toward a straight-backed silhouette against the grey horizon. The weight of her sore limbs settles in. She clutches her arms closer, folds into herself like she’ll be ambushed at any second.

“Follow my voice. I know you’re in there. I know it’s hard.”

Jinsoul nods, sobbing loudly.

“I know how the world scorches you. But it’ll only be for a little while. You’ll learn. You’ll grow stronger. Trust me.”

Jinsoul isn’t sure if she wants to, but she has no choice. The lone figure seems to be her only escape from this nightmare.

“Trust me. I’ll bring you back.”

Jinsoul reaches out. The shadow turns, takes Jinsoul’s trembling hand, and walks.

Jinsoul feels a force tug on her very soul. Her back hits a spring mattress. She cries out again. The pain increases tenfold. But now she has control. She grits her teeth and swallows her voice. It tapers off into a groan, then labored pants. Jinsoul tries to grip her head, white-hot pain nearly splitting her skull, but something yanks her hand down. Her thin wrist is chained to a bed frame. She pulls and pulls. Steel against steel, it clatters mockingly.

Two hands press gently on her shoulders, coaxing her back onto the bed.

“Hey. Hey, shh. It’s okay. You’re safe here.”

Jinsoul stares up at the woman, wide-eyed. At least she didn’t lie. She brought Jinsoul back. Jinsoul doesn’t know where. All at once, she’s hypersensitive. She’s aware of three more chains restraining the rest of her limbs.

“Precautionary measures. They’ll be off soon,” the woman reassures.

She combs back Jinsoul’s hair. It’s soothing. Jinsoul doesn’t want to admit it. She wants to go back home. To her own room. To her family. To… Jiwoo. Where is Jiwoo? She wants to ask but feels like sandpaper.

The woman reads her effortlessly. Jinsoul sits up slowly, fidgeting and shivering. The woman presents a capped aluminum cup with a straw. Jinsoul eyes it warily.

“Drink. I promise it’s not poison. Though I don’t know how much my word means.” She shrugs. “It’s about the only thing we can drink, so don’t waste it. Come on now.”

Jinsoul figures she doesn’t have a choice if she’s really a hostage. When the liquid touches her tongue, it’s like the nectar of the gods. It flows down with a silky smoothness. She closes her eyes, allows herself to breathe. It smells incredible. A bit metallic, but it adds depth to the flavor. The straw on air, bubbling at the bottom of the cup. Jinsoul sighs in relief.

When she opens her eyes, she’s surprised at what she finds. The woman’s smile isn’t so much out of pleasure, rather filled with secrets skillfully hidden. She looks at Jinsoul like she understands. There are many stories on those lips. Experience has made those kind eyes sharp and trained. The woman gauges Jinsoul’s reaction, every movement she makes, every twitch of her muscles.

They still ache, duller now. Jinsoul doesn’t have the energy to fight. The woman sees this. She inserts a key and unlocks the four shackles. Jinsoul furrows her eyebrows as the woman continues to unlock more that she can’t see. They’re removed from the bed frame altogether and wound up like a rope.

The woman hovers at the door. From the thin stream of soft yellow light, Jinsoul sees the way her eyes crinkle. She has a wide disarming grin. She holds herself confidently, but not arrogantly. She chuckles under Jinsoul’s analytical gaze.

“I was just passing by. I…” She picks at the doorframe. “I remember what it was like. I see it all the time when I get someone new. Anyway, the door’s locked for your safety. But don’t worry. Someone will come if you buzz. I’ll see you around, I guess?”

She salutes to Jinsoul who nods back. The woman speaks to someone outside. The door clicks shut, muffling their voices. Jinsoul’s ears ring at this new sensitivity.

“Get her whatever she needs if it’s attainable. This one’s been through a lot.”

“So I’ve heard,” the guard says sympathetically. “Once she learns—”

“Shh, it’s not our place,” the woman chides.

Jinsoul wonders what they know about her. She wonders what rumor mill there is and among who. The room she’s being held captive in is comfortable. The bed is soft and quiet. The lights have dimmed since she awoke. There’s a table with stationary and two chairs. The bookshelf is fully stocked. There’s a bathroom off to the side. Jinsoul spots a toilet and a shower stall clearly in the mirror, though the lights are off. Her nightstand is a mini fridge full of capped aluminum and plastic cups. There’s a microwave in the corner of the kitchenette. The woman left the cup and straw in the small sink before leaving.

Now that Jinsoul is free to move around, she doesn’t want to. Exhaustion consumes her. She rolls over, brings her knees up to her chest, and pulls the covers around her tighter. Her reflection in the smooth obsidian wall stares back until she drifts off to sleep.

~|~|~|~

It’s been days. Finally after all her prayers, Jiwoo sits in front of her. Only now, Jinsoul wishes she would leave.

The doctor’s lips move without sound. Neither of them are listening. Jiwoo stares at her in disbelief, with longing and concern— No. Something deeper. Her neck strains with every breath as her eyes take in all of Jinsoul. Unwarranted fine-tuned empathy. She shouldn’t have to share in Jinsoul’s suffering. But that’s just how Jiwoo is.

Jinsoul can only look back in horror and disgust. Bile rises in . It irritates the dryness that’s never gone for more than a few minutes. She wants to tear her eyes away. She tells herself she doesn’t deserve to. Unworthy of respite when a reminder of what she’s become exists inches away. She’s restless while willing her limbs to stiffen. The rest of their friends stand in the back with pitying expressions. Jinsoul doesn’t want them. She thinks they should be directed at Jiwoo.

Beautiful, compassionate, gentle Jiwoo with gauze wrapped so thickly around her forearm, she can’t hide it under her sleeve no matter how much she tugs at it. She tries every time Jinsoul’s eyes flicker down. They settle there indefinitely and Jiwoo realizes it’s a futile effort.

“Jinsoul?” the doctor tests.

“I did that,” she spits back. A low growl rumbles from deep within her chest. “I hurt her.”

“You didn’t know what you were doing,” Jiwoo says quickly. “You weren’t in control—”

“That’s no excuse!” Jinsoul stands up. Her chair skids back into the bed frame. Everyone winces at the harsh screeches. Jinsoul cradles her head in her arms and shouts. “I’m not supposed to hurt the ones I love!”

“Jinsoul. Please, look at me.”

Jiwoo sounds so desperate and broken. Despite knowing she’s the reason behind it, Jinsoul could never refuse. Jiwoo’s eyes are glossy. Jinsoul swallows and doesn’t allow herself the luxury of air. She steps closer, places her palm over Jiwoo’s. They retract their hands immediately. Jinsoul shakes hers as if her skin had been seared off. Jiwoo hugs her own hand like she’s a second away from frostbite.

“It wears off eventually. It becomes bearable over time,” the doctor supplies. She’s ignored.

“Listen to me. I need you to know.”

Jinsoul somehow finds the courage to meet Jiwoo’s gaze. It’s so full of adoration, she loses all strength in her legs and crumples to the ground. Jiwoo slides off her chair and kneels before Jinsoul, hands flat against the glass wall dividing them.

“You’re still my Jinsoul. I love you, and I know you do too.”

Jiwoo’s absolutely right. Jinsoul loves her so much, she hopes Jiwoo can let her go. Jinsoul’s not worth the pain.

~|~|~|~

The tension is so thick, Jiwoo could cut it with a knife. Except she’s so, so drained. Her wounds switch between sharp needle pricks and pulsing stings.

Jinsoul wouldn’t respond no matter how many times Jiwoo cried out to her. A murmur swept through the partitioned room. Haseul and Jungeun lifted her off the floor. She couldn’t fight back. She just stared at the lone figure on the floor, her face hidden behind a curtain of hair and her shoulders shaking, until the door cut off her line of sight.

Nobody knows what to ask.

The doctor clears awkwardly. It never gets easier, but healing injuries comes first. “Miss Kim? If you’ll allow me, I’d like to change your bandages.”

Jiwoo furrows her eyebrows, only registering the request once the doctor kneels in front of her. She dips her head stiffly and watches the deft hands push up her sleeve, unravel the gauze, and peel back the stained sterile pads. The doctor works so quickly, the pain seems to subside until after her arm is rewrapped, as if her senses were delayed.

Haseul squeezes Jiwoo’s shoulder. “Dr. Im—”

“Please, call me Yeojin.” The doctor smiles because though everyone is far from cheerful, at least a visual cue might ease their minds.

“Yeojin. Will, uh, will Jiwoo be…” How does one describe this state of being? Infected? Changed? Like Jinsoul? “Okay?” Haseul finishes lamely.

Yeojin sits on the corner of the coffee table. She nods. “Flesh wounds though they may be, Jinsoul isn’t old enough. Her immune system hasn’t adjusted yet, thus she can’t produce viable venom. She won’t for another few days. Even then it’s not potent.” She faces Jiwoo, speaking softly. “They should heal within a few weeks. Don’t overexert yourself and keep the stitches clean. If you ever need help, feel free to stop by. I can dress them for you.”

Jiwoo nods once, eyes unfocused.

“Question?” Yeojin asks kindly, meeting Vivi’s curious stare.

“Sorry, it’s just. You look awfully young to be a doctor.”

Yeojin chuckles. “You could say that about nearly everyone in this facility. I was turned shortly after my sixteenth birthday. Always a rebellious kid and quite hot-headed. Had a family spat. Snuck out in the middle of the night out of spite. Was halfway across the country when I could recognize myself. Needless to say I couldn’t go back. You tend to get bored after a century. You learn things about the world. I found an interest in medicine, how transformative and restorative it is. And in this facility, I found a purpose. Turning is a nasty business. Those who work here, well, we’d like to give the young ones what we never had.”

There’s a moment of silence out of respect.

“What is it like to turn?”

Heejin would usually scold Hyunjin for speaking so brusquely, but she holds her tongue. Second to Jiwoo, Hyunjin needs to know why she had to pry a crazed Jinsoul off of Jiwoo and restrain her until the others escorted the bleeding girl out of the room. She needs to know why they had to strap Jinsoul to the demolished bed frame and push furniture up against the door.

Jiwoo registers Hyunjin’s clenched jaw, her hollow eyes, fingers interlocked to keep them from picking at cracked cuticles. Jiwoo feels guilty because she doesn’t have the energy left to be in the same state.

Yeojin sighs deeply as if through all the decades of debriefings, she now pities her audience more than herself.

“It varies from person to person. But… At first, it’s like you’ve achieved eternal peace. Mind-numbing, reality-wiping, blissfully ignorant peace. That lasts about twenty-four hours, give or take a few. Then it hits you like a train. Or if you really want to be accurate, it’s like an anchor crashes down on you, hooks you by the spine, and yanks you out of a void. You’re thrown back to this world. You feel everything. It’s overwhelming for the body to adjust immediately. It drains all the nutrients from you in order to constantly heal and reform, which is why you go into a sort of feeding frenzy. You’re malnourished. It’s a physiological response to maintain homeostasis. A basic principle that persists even for us.”

It’s so casual like they’re sitting in a lecture hall. Then Yeojin’s voice fades to a raspy whisper. Jiwoo knows this is the closest a human can get to understanding so she’s relieved and stunned when Yeojin spares no details.

“But the hysteria is due to the pain. Relentless stimulation. Before you can process it all, you sense more. Your nerves fire constantly after a day of paralysis. Everything’s amplified and it’s agony. You see things so clearly, so brightly, you’re blinded. You can hear a pin drop three stories above you so your hearing’s shot and you’re nauseous from trying to stay balanced. You’re so sensitive, the slightest pressure is excruciating. At the same time, your strength is out of control. The only reason you don’t knock down a wall is because your dexterity is out the window. You don’t know where you are, who’s in front of you, or what your name is. And you’re not allowed to care because you just need blood. The thirst overrides rationality. In the presence of humans, of fresh blood coursing through veins? It’s insatiable.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to her earlier.”

Gasps come from every corner of the room. Jiwoo feels herself tense, wants to screech and leap off the couch because she’s so prone to jump scares, but her body doesn’t react. Jungeun clutches her chest and mutters a swear at the flash of purple next to her.

“Yerim, you know you have to exaggerate your footsteps around humans,” Yeojin tuts.

The girl dips her head bashfully. “It’s my job to be stealthy.” She turns to the others. “Your cabin was so far and by the shore. I followed the scent from town, but the water makes it hard to track.”

“Track?” questions Chaewon, squinting at the suspicious stranger.

“Yerim’s one of our best Seekers. She patrols for newly turned vampires and transports them to the facility as quickly as possible.”

“Vampirism isn’t a culture. It’s a stage of life we never asked for,” says Yerim. “The least I can do is make sure they wake up somewhere safe.”

“Safe.” The room goes quiet. Jiwoo’s neck cricks when she turns to the girl leaning against the door frame. “Jinsoul is safe here?” The words come out choppy as if she was just learning to speak.

“Very,” says Yeojin. “We provide Jinsoul with all the blood a young one needs right after turning. Where we were before, that’s her room for as long as she wants to stay here, no obligations. The glass wall is scent-proof so you can visit her if she’s available. We have professionals to help her in any capacity—”

“Available?” Jiwoo snaps. Anger seeps into her bones. “Where else would she go? Where are you taking her?”

Yeojin’s eyes widen in surprise, but she waits patiently in case Jiwoo wants to yell more. Jiwoo does, about everything and nothing, but it’s difficult to articulate.

“Among our staff are a division of Handlers. They acclimate the young ones to our lifestyle. It’s hard to navigate without a mentor. Jinsoul will have designated sessions. She’s always free to request more or take breaks. I assure you she will be given the best care we can provide. We just want to get her on her own two feet.”

Jiwoo wants to throw up and it has nothing to do with the motorboat ferrying them back to the mainland. She feels like she’s been ripped in two. Jinsoul has to spend every waking moment surrounded by strangers. She has to learn how to live again. Perhaps exist is a better word, Jiwoo doesn’t know.

What she does know is that she has to be strong. She left her heart behind on that island. So she forces herself to sit in the ruins of her bedroom with tattered sheets and broken boards, and cry herself to sleep. She won’t shed a single tear in front of Jinsoul.

~|~|~|~

Jinsoul chucks another crane at the wall. Her hands move faster and faster until fatigue sets in.

Fold, crease, unfold. Turn. Fold, flap up, crease. Unfold, pull out.

“Knock knock.”

Rip.

Jinsoul glares at the door. Her expression softens when a familiar woman with straight hair black as midnight steps inside.

“A hobby of yours?” The woman nods at the pile of origami on the desk.

“I’m bored out of my mind, I miss my friends, and my throat feels like it’s on fire,” grumbles Jinsoul. She shreds the rest of the ruined paper.

“Mildly irritated,” the woman says, shaking her head and pretending to take notes on a patient chart. She grins and tosses a colorful pack of square paper. “Heard you needed more.”

Jinsoul rotates it slowly in her hands. “Thanks.”

The woman shrugs. “It was on sale.”

“No. I mean, thanks. For before.”

The woman sits on the edge of the bed. “Of course. One of the worst things is getting out of there,” she taps Jinsoul’s temple, “alone. We all need a tether.”

Jinsoul wants to see her again. Jiwoo, who kept her grounded when life took too much out of her. One glance, just one smile, was enough to quell the storm in her mind. Jiwoo is so pure and faithful. And Jinsoul had shut her out. It felt like slamming the door on the string that tied them together. It stings so much whenever she tugs at it, willing the space between them to disappear. But whatever Jinsoul is now, it’s better that Jiwoo isn’t here. Better that she doesn’t see Jinsoul eyeing the metal cups in her fridge like they’d be stolen. Better that she doesn’t hear Jinsoul growling in her sleep, or see the metal bars on the bed frame bend when the thirst hits out of nowhere.

Jiwoo.

Jiwoo.

Days ago she told Jiwoo she loved her. She kissed her. Felt Jiwoo’s pulse against her lips in a dark, hazy club. Had she always smelled that sweet?

Warm.

Rich.

Clean.

Fresh.

“Hey, stay with me.”

Jinsoul’s on the floor, crouched with her teeth bared. The woman takes Jinsoul’s clenched fists into her hands. Her thumb rubs over each white knuckle until Jinsoul loosens her grip. Jinsoul falls back, head colliding with the edge of the desk and feeling nothing.

“I just wondered how Jiwoo would taste.” Jinsoul’s voice shakes so much, she barely understands herself.

flares up at the thought. Her pupils dilate. Her breaths become ragged. Eyes scan the room as if a warm body was nearby, ripe for the picking.

She clamps a hand over , throat burning like it’s drenched in acid but wanting so badly to satisfy that craving.

I’m a monster.

“Jinsoul, listen to me. You can’t go back to the same life you had. But you can move on. Fight. Learn. Thrive. Take it all in and show the world you’re not done yet. It’s the best revenge you can take.”

Jinsoul curls into herself, whimpering on the floor. The woman offers her hand.

“Come with me. I’ll show you.”

~|~|~|~

Next time. Next time. Next time. Written in someone else’s hand, not Jinsoul’s.

Jiwoo shreds all of the notices into pieces. It’s far from relieving.

“There must be a reason. She’s level-headed and direct and… And Jinsoul wouldn’t leave me in the dark.” Jiwoo repeats it like a mantra all night.

Day after day, one rejection after another. She couldn’t stand the restlessness. She catches a boat to the island first thing in the morning. Now that she’s here, Yeojin looking up at her with kind eyes and Jinsoul nowhere to be found, she’s exhausted. Sinking into the couch of the visitors’ lounge, she tries to trick herself. She’s in the same building that Jinsoul lives in. They’re on the same plot of land.

It’s not enough. She’s too damn far.

She wants to hold Jinsoul again. Catch the breeze off the ocean and watch Jinsoul’s fingers reach up to lace together with hers. She wants to hear her voice in the moments before they drift off to sleep. She wants to stare at her for hours, memorizing every extraordinary detail somehow manifested in one person.

She wants to stride into that room and tell Jinsoul they’re doing fine. She’s doing fine. And all she wants is to help Jinsoul rehabilitate. Say all of that without her voice breaking, without her eyes watering. Because at such a critical time when Jinsoul’s confused and alone, she should know her loved ones are waiting with open arms and it’s not her fault.

The cushion shifts under the weight of the small doctor.

“I’m honestly glad you came alone,” says Yeojin, replacing the dressings on Jiwoo’s arm unprompted.

“Am I about to star in a horror movie?”

Yeojin chuckles. “Let me rephrase. I’m glad you came without Haseul. She wasn’t rude,” Yeojin clarifies quickly. She swallows thickly and says with a wistful smile, “She just reminds me of someone. Back when I was human. The thing about getting older but not growing older is, you keep all the memories. Associations can be strong. The mind is active. It morphs and shifts and is prone to emotions. And we are most prone to our sense of smell. You’d think I’d remember her face first. Her laugh, how she watched over me. Her beautiful voice that tamed the most wild temperaments. Centuries have passed. Now the first thing I recognize is her scent. Sometimes I feel guilty, like it’s a disgrace to her memory. Other times, I’m just glad to have known her at all, no matter how she comes back to me.”

Jiwoo doesn’t understand until she’s approved to see Jinsoul the following week.

She walks into the barren part of the room. Jinsoul stands in her furnished half, pulling and pushing at the wings of a delicate paper crane with a childlike innocence Jiwoo misses sorely. Jiwoo steps up to the partition, pressing her palm against the smooth glass. Jinsoul’s eyes twinkle when she looks up and raises her palm.

“Jiwoo!”

As soon as their hands align, Jinsoul recoils with a hiss. It’s too soon. There’s still a considerable difference between their temperatures. Jiwoo schools her expression because the first time Jinsoul sees her in two weeks, it shouldn’t be one of pain.

“Hey, baby,” Jiwoo says softly.

“I missed you. So much,” whines Jinsoul as she plops onto the edge of her bed. “God you look beautiful.”

The way Jinsoul sighs makes Jiwoo swoon.

“I don’t think we’ve ever gone this long without seeing each other.”

Jinsoul grins. “I remember thinking month-long winter breaks were worth more than diamonds. Who knew I’d buy a train ticket at the crack of dawn, days after last semester’s finals to visit you two cities over?”

“Right before a blizzard hit, no less. You said I give the best hugs and your snuggle battery was running low.” Jiwoo tries not to cry.

“I don’t make the laws of the universe,” Jinsoul shrugs. “So what’s my angel been up to?”

Jiwoo wants to laugh because she doesn’t remember Jinsoul ever being this excited. Happy, yes, she’s always cheerful. But this Jinsoul in front of her is bouncing with energy. She should be thankful.

“Well this morning, a gigantic beetle flew in because Chaewon left the back door open. Hyunjin pitched the closest thing by her. She got it, but we had to scrape ten eggs off of the furniture. You know how cranky Jungeun gets when she’s hungry and has to clean.”

Jinsoul’s clutching her stomach and howling with laughter. The room looks so much brighter. Jiwoo takes this moment to cherish the sound and the warmth that blooms deep within her. Jinsoul begins imitating Jungeun, whose straight-teethed grimace she’s woken up to too many times in the freshmen’s dorm. Jiwoo glimpses Jinsoul’s canines. Their sharpness is bewitching.

“How is the new couple?” Jinsoul wiggles her eyebrows.

“You should ask how Vivi is. The poor girl’s been kicked out of Haseul’s room.”

Jiwoo doesn’t mention that she’s been sharing the spare room with Vivi. Nor how she always wakes up to Vivi hugging her, tissues littering the floor because she’d been crying in her sleep. Nobody steps into her and Jinsoul’s room for more reasons than anyone is willing to say.

“I’m surprised Haseul hasn’t found a Vegemite bomb under her pillow.”

“Who said she didn’t?”

Jinsoul snorts unabashedly. It’s music to Jiwoo’s ears. “Knew that bulk jar would come in handy.”

Jiwoo raises a hand and smacks the glass, aiming for Jinsoul’s shoulder. “You’re so mean!”

“College is a time to collaborate with other creative minds. We’re just too powerful.”

Jinsoul’s jaw drops and her eyes roll back as soon as the words leave her lips, resembling the dork on the quad that captivated Jiwoo nearly a year ago. Only a few front teeth show, and now the tips of her canines, then expands like a cavern. Jiwoo can see the back of Jinsoul’s throat when she guffaws. It’s so unladylike and so endearing.

“How are you?” Jinsoul asks when she calms down, her voice soft and drawling. Jiwoo could curl up on the floor and sleep.

“I’m alright. I miss you. We all do. Every minute.” Jiwoo doesn’t ask why she wasn’t allowed to say it earlier. It feels unfair now. She catches Jinsoul eyeing her arm. “Dr. Im said I’m recovering quickly. A side-effect of your premature venom. The scars will be faint. Hardly noticeable. So really, I should thank you,” she giggles.

With a glimmer of hope, Jiwoo sees she has the same effect on Jinsoul. Her laughs, her signature bright demeanor and beaming grin. They ease away the tense creases on Jinsoul’s forehead.

“It’s not your fault. Please believe me,” says Jiwoo. She knows Jinsoul doesn’t, but her girlfriend nods anyway. “Focus on yourself. Tell me. What’s new with you?”

Jiwoo relaxes and drowns in Jinsoul’s voice. It has a quality like the amber glow of a fire in the arctic wilderness. The world could collapse all around them, but they’re in their bubble. Together, serene, with stories aplenty and smiles to fill their bellies.

“Sooyoung said we’d go running and I said, ‘Hang on, I don’t do cardio.’ And she said, ‘This ain’t cardio. It’s freedom.’ And then she just dropped! Right off the ledge! She was ten buildings away in a second. So I jumped too. It felt like my stomach was in my esophagus. But the adrenaline. The thrill!”

Jiwoo tunes back into the conversation. She doesn’t know who Jinsoul’s talking about, probably her Handler. Jiwoo’s so happy that Jinsoul feels alive, taking her newfound abilities in stride. And yet…

“Jiwoo. Jiwoo! I can breathe again! God, I don’t remember air smelling this sweet. The ocean breeze blocks the scent from the mainland, so I can finally breathe without losing control. I can roam around the city. It feels so normal. It’s only been a few weeks but I missed this so much. I can run down the street. Scale up a building like gravity can’t catch up. Race across rooftops faster than birds can fly. Nothing compares to that first crisp inhale when sunlight breaks the horizon. A hundred of us perched along the skyline just waiting. It’s almost sacred.”

There it is. Acid prickles in Jiwoo’s throat.

Jinsoul always said I took her breath away.

Yeojin’s words finally sink in and Jiwoo realizes how much it hurts to be in the same space.

The glass wall that separates them keeps Jinsoul sane while shattering every ounce of willpower Jiwoo has left. So naturally, she smiles.

A/N:

Biggest plot twist: Yeojin as a mature fictional character.